Cleaning out the Closet
by SimplyHermione
Summary: HGDM. Sequel to I Didn't Want Them to Know. You might want to read that first. Hermione can finally feel emotions, but there's a difference between feeling them and handling them in a healthy way. She'll confront a past she hates and try to move on.
1. The Closet

**It's all J.K. Rowling's, except the plot. **

**This story is set the year after "I Didn't Want Them to Know." The Epilogue in "I Didn't Want Them to Know" was a month before this story takes place. Hermione, as it turns out, was hiding more than she let on.**

* * *

"You're the reason I am who I am today. You're the reason I'm numb. You're the reason I'm skeptical. You're the reason I fight every day, every moment of each of them, to feel anything at all. You're the reason I'm still partially dead inside, and the reason I'm so distrusting of the world. You're the reason I get such good grades, because all I ever wanted was to be nothing like you. School got me out; school set me free. That day, when I was little, when I threw myself on the ground and swore I would never be like you? I meant it. So now you're irresponsible; I'm overly responsible. You're promiscuous; I'm a prude. You do drugs; I'll never even try them. You're emotional; I'm cold. You're the reason why I'm who I am today. Thanks. Thanks for showing me just the mom I'd never want to be."

I stopped pacing for a moment and took a deep breath. I knew there was a chance of someone overhearing me, but there was just so much built up in there. I had to get it out somehow, and talking it out was the easiest way.

I had gotten another letter from my mother that morning. It was more of the same. He was doing it all over again; she was pressing charges all over again; she had the bruises all over again. Grimly, I wondered if she had even felt the pain with all the drugs in her system.

I knew that wasn't fair. But at the same time, she hadn't been fair to me. She was never fair to me, it seemed. She had never been there while I was a child. She had left it up to my father's second wife to be the real mother, and sometimes she didn't do such a great job, either. See, most students at Hogwarts didn't know the woman I called "Mom" wasn't my real mother. I liked to keep the real one in the shadows. It was just too painful, and it would bring up too many misconceptions, and people might think differently of me. I had to be guarded.

That all worked fine until I had released my emotions last school year. My father had abused my stepmother just like he had my mother, and I told the authorities. We got help for everyone. It was all wonderful. Draco helped me through everything, and we're even still together through all that struggle.

Little did they know, there was even more back there. Little did they know, there was yet more I still didn't want them to know.

* * *

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Draco asked me later that day. I knew I hadn't been acting like I normally did around him, but I couldn't help it. There was just so much going on, and I didn't want to put him through the same things all over again... 

"Nothing's wrong," I lied gracefully.

"Hermione, Darling," he said matter-of-factly, turning me to face him and looking straight into my eyes, "I don't buy that for a minute."

I looked away.

"What's wrong?"

I still said nothing.

"You know you can trust me," he said, meeting my eyes again. "You can tell me anything."

"No I can't," I said softly, looking away again. "Not this."

Draco appeared to think for a moment, then wrapped me in a hug. "Okay, Hermione," he said finally. "I know you'll tell me when you're ready."

I felt the tears form in my eyes as he held me.

Even through the emotion in my voice, I managed a small "Thank you."

"Any time, Love," he said softly, kissing me. I smiled faintly at the new affectionate term. It had taken some getting used to, but I liked it soon enough.

He took my hand, and we began walking the Hogwarts grounds like we always did. As with many times before, he simply held my hand and left me to my thoughts.

* * *

He was there again. It was him, in my dreams. I could feel him hurting me, see his hateful eyes searing through me, hear that dreadful voice cutting through me like a knife. I had done something again. Something he didn't approve of, and he let me know. I was running, trying, crying so hard I could feel my abdomen burning in pain. The harder I ran, the more he hit me. The more I fought, the worse it was, and it was like that every time...

I woke up in a cold sweat, the blankets tangled all around me and my eyes and abdomen still burning with the tears from crying so hard.

I was shaking so hard; it was so hard to get control of myself. I was burning, sweating hot after, and still shaking. Hot flashes, then cold chills. Complete and utter emotional overload, and all because that evil, evil man appeared in my dreams. He was just a memory, but such a vivid and realistic memory it seemed I could never escape.

The dreams were coming more frequently now, since I'd let myself become emotional. It was like I had opened some sort of floodgate, and all the bad emotions came in with the good. I knew now there was no way to close that again; it was too unhealthy. I just had to deal with it, and try my best to not let it affect me in ways that anyone might notice.

* * *

"He did it again," I said simply to the therapist.

"Did what?" she asked.

"Hurt her."

"I thought he was in jail?" The woman appeared confused, and then I realized I hadn't told her, either.

"Oh, he is," I muttered. "Nevermind." I wasn't quite sure I was ready.

"Hermione," she said in her therapist way, "if there's something you need to discuss, by all means discuss it."

I sighed, a long and hard sigh. I considered my words for a moment, and then I spoke. I spoke quickly and concisely because I knew there was no other way to tell her. Storytime, yes, but sometimes it's necessary.

"My mother isn't my real mother. The woman I've discussed before is my stepmother, and the other woman is my mother. She had me, somewhat cared until I was about three, and left me to my father. Then he and my stepmother adopted me, and then my dad did the same sorts of things to my stepmother as he had to my mother. Only he might have actually cared, but I have yet to figure that out. So anyway, my mother went off and found some other man, an even worse man. This man did the same things for the pure thrill of it. He hates women, and he hurts her as frequently as he can. Yet she's never pressed charges. She's too strung out on drugs to do anything about it, and nothing I do helps."

The therapist did her best not to appear surprised.

"She writes letters from time to time. Another came yesterday. He had done the same things; she's going to press charges; blah, blah, blah... Then there was another dream last night. The same type of thing where he's beating me and I can't get away from it. Running was always a bad idea."

"I see," she responded, obviously doing her best to remain neutral.

"So you see," I said, storytime voice now full intact, "the closet's just a little deeper than I let on." Pausing, I added more softly, "And I have no clue how to clean it."

* * *

**A/N: Hey all, let me know what you think. Thanks!**

**For anyone who hasn't read the first part to this story, you might be a little confused. Reading it first will definitely make my characters seem a lot more realistic. **


	2. Exhaustion

**Except the plot, it's all J.K. Rowling's. **

My body ached all over. My chest felt like it was caving in, hard and fast. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I was paralyzed, and there he was all over again. He was near me, closing me in... I was trapped. His evil, merciless eyes bore into me, and I shivered in fear. His shadow covered my figure, blocking out the light. I couldn't see anything. I was blind. I was helpless.

I was dreaming. I woke again in the same cold sweat, with the same hot flashes and cold chills as the night before.

For the first few moments, I felt like I simply couldn't get enough air. I breathed and breathed and hoped against all hope I might get enough oxygen to my lungs to help me survive.

After a bit, I realized my survival was intact and I was safe in my bed, at Hogwarts, far from him. He was gone. He couldn't hurt me anymore.

I didn't believe it for a second.

* * *

I walked around the next day in a complete daze. I hadn't gotten much sleep for two nights in a row, and it was starting to take a toll on me physically. 

"What's up, Hermione?" Ginny asked me at breakfast, a concerned look on her face.

"Nothing, Gin," I replied, attempting for a smile but failing miserably.

"'Mione, even _I _could tell that was fake," Harry interjected.

I glared at him, and he turned away.

"Talk to me, girl," Ginny continued, placing a delicate hand on my shoulder. "I'm here if you need me."

"I know you are," I said quietly. Somehow, I was just too weak for the front. I couldn't pretend like it was okay, because it just plain wasn't.

At the same time, I couldn't bring myself to tell her. I had put everyone through so much the previous year that I couldn't bear to do so again. Besides, I didn't even think they'd want to know. For their sakes, it was better to just stay silent.

No one really tried the rest of the meal, and I liked it that way. I sulked into my food until I felt I had eaten enough to suffice for nutrition, and then I felt the tears begin to well up in my eyes. As soon as they threatened to fall, I excused myself and refused to look at anyone as I left.

* * *

"I'm depressing," I declared to Draco that day while we walked to Potions together. "I just depress everyone around me, and I should really quit that." 

Shaking his head, Draco stopped me and put his hands on my arms. He looked straight into my eyes and said, "No, Hermione, the only thing you need to stop is this." He waved his hand over my face.

I looked at him for a moment, confused, and he continued.

"The act," he said simply. I actually pouted at him, and he couldn't help but smile. "Don't give me that," he said, serious again. His voice softened as he brought his face a little closer to mine. He whispered, "You don't have to be the strong one anymore, remember?"

His sweet eyes on mine, combined with his reassuring hands on my shoulders and the mess inside my head, sent me into tears.

He held me softly, rocking me in his arms and telling me it would be okay. Though I didn't believe him, I straightened up enough to get to class. By some miracle, we were on time. Besides, I don't think I could have dealt with tardiness to that one...

* * *

I didn't pay much attention in Potions class, to be quite honest. I took out a piece of parchment, while I was supposed to be taking notes, and I wrote: 

_Anger  
suppression  
pain  
deep, searing pain  
within me.  
Threatening,  
boiling,  
On the verge of explosion.  
Then,  
Nothing.  
Numb.  
As it always was.  
Just... numb.  
And now?  
Too much.  
Overwhelming.  
Day in,  
day out.  
Another letter,  
another moment.  
Running,  
hiding,  
crawling deep within myself.  
Scared,  
trembling,  
Just go!  
Go.  
Leave me alone._

I couldn't bring myself to write any more, so I left it at that. I tucked the poem away inside my book, and I desperately tried to pay attention. I tried so hard to care about what was going on in class. But it was no use, really. My thoughts just ran away with me.

_Back to Mom, and that loser of an ex-husband. She brings it on herself, really. With all those drugs, and the alcohol, and all those muggle agents to numb emotions. I didn't need the drugs, but it was all the same anyway. We're not that different, her and I. That scares me. I don't want to be like her. Will I be like her? Will Draco ever..._

_They divorced a long time ago, so why does she even mess with it anymore anyway? They call it Battered Women's Syndrome or something like that. Like she feels like she deserves it because she gets it. He's killed her spirit so much she thinks she actually deserves it. I'm sure the drugs don't help, either._

_He does it. She calls the muggle police. They come. She doesn't press charges. He does it again, a vicious cycle of the same things, over and over and over..._

"Miss Granger," came a sharp voice, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Snape glaring at me, his eyes tearing through me. "I do believe I asked you a question."

I felt my face turn a deep red, and I muttered, "I... I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't quite catch that."

"Didn't quite catch it, eh?" he responded, an evil sort of look in his eyes.

I vaguely noticed Draco holding my hand to comfort me.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape barked. He glared even more intensely at me as he added, "For complete lack of regard for instruction."

I cowered in my chair, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. Luckily Snape had gotten back to the instruction of the day, but I trembled the rest of the class regardless.

I hated being so weak.

At that moment, I wished I could go back to just being numb.

* * *

**A/N: Hey all, let me know what you think. Sorry for the utterly depressing quality of this, but it kinda comes with the territory. So anyway, yeah. Review, please. Thanks!**


	3. Talking

**Yep, it's J.K. Rowling's. **

**Also, sorry for the strange page breaks. For some reason, the solid line isn't working today. **

"What's going on with you, Hermione?"

I was silent. For the first time since that first talk about my parents, I couldn't talk to Draco. I just couldn't. I sighed a deep sigh and looked away. "Nothing," I said, briefly noting the lack of emotion in my voice.

"Hermione," he said firmly, holding on to my shoulders and looking directly into my eyes, "I'm here. I'm here for you. Talk to me."

His voice was so earnest; his plea so real. I shrunk back and away from it, unable to take his affection. I was a child again, locked within myself if only for the moment. I tried to speak. I honestly tried. My mind formed the words. _It's my mom. My real mom._ I tried and tried to send the message, but to no avail. _He hurt her. He hurt her._ But it was no use. There was this block between the words I meant to say and the sounds that came from my mouth. There was nothing. I tried harder, desperately wanting to communicate with him. I wanted him to know all of it then. I wanted someone to talk to.

It had gone too far.

I managed a small whimper from the back of my throat, and I gave up. I relaxed into his arms, and he brought me onto the grass with him. Laying on the Hogwarts lawn, sprawled across his lap, I finally just quit trying altogether and fell asleep.

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I had a meeting with the counselor that afternoon. Our meetings had become more frequent since this last letter.

"It was like I wanted to talk to him, but I just physically couldn't," I explained to her. "My mind was trying and trying and I formed the words I don't know how many times, but I just physically couldn't vocalize it. I couldn't get the words from inside my head to him. It was like there was this wall in between my mind and my mouth, and nothing I did broke through."

She nodded.

I thought in silence for a moment. "It's happened before," I said quietly. I looked up to find her looking at me. I looked away. My voice was even quieter now. "Any time anyone triggers an insecurity at the same time it brings up old issues. It's like I just can't take the emotional overload that happens, and I just shut down completely." I paused to consider my wording. "Does that even make sense?"

She took a breath. "Well, actually," she said, "it's quite common for people with abuse in their background. It is especially common with either physical abuse or alcoholism."

My voice was nearly a whisper. "And of course I have both."

"Right," she said. "Which makes it all the more likely for you."

I sighed. "You know, if I can catch it before it gets that far, it doesn't happen."

She didn't say anything, so I continued. "It's like this cloud. I can feel it start to rush over me, and if I can get words out, any words really, before it gets all the way over me, it recedes again. And then I'm all better and I can talk and everything."

She nodded and wrote something on her parchment.

"I just have to say something, anything, before it gets all the way there. Does that make any sense at all?"

She nodded again.

I didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Do you think I should talk to Draco about it?"

She seemed to consider what I said before speaking. "The foundation of any relationship is communication," she said finally. I nodded. "But I can't tell you what you should do. You'll have to figure that out on your own."

I was afraid she'd say that.

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"So how did your appointment go?" Draco asked as we went for another walk. Our walks were also much more frequent since the letter.

"It went okay," I responded.

"That's good," he said.

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

"He hurt her again," I whispered, before I could completely process my phrasing.

"What?" he asked.

I buried my face in his chest and whispered again, "He hurt her."

He ran his fingers through my hair. "Who hurt who?" he asked, confused.

I couldn't really blame him for being confused, but for some reason it annoyed me. I just decided to pretend it didn't.

"My ex-stepdad," I responded. "He hurt her like he always used to hurt us."

Draco gave me a very complicated look. It was confused and scared and caring and a whole mixture of emotions.

I sighed. "My mother isn't my mother. Well, not my biological one. She's my stepmother. It's just easier to call her mom and forget about the other one."

Draco nodded slowly, still trying to grasp my words.

"And every once in a while, the other one calls or writes or whatever. For a while, I was safe because she didn't know about the owl post. But somehow she found out and I got a letter here." Tears were brimming on my eyes, but I didn't care at that point. "And he hurt her. And she won't do anything about it."

Draco held me tightly, which only mildly kept me from shivering. From there, he took my hand and began to walk with me. He had always known walking helped me talk.

Taking a deep breath, I spoke. "I apologize if this is story-like," I began. "But it's too close to keep away right now." I looked over at him, and he nodded.

I took another deep breath.

Then, I told my story. I spoke without stopping, and he listened without interrupting.

"My mother and father were together until I was about two years old. She left him for this other man, who she thought would be better. As you know, my father was abusive as well, but somehow it was always genuinely deserved. With me, it was usually something I had actually done wrong. He just didn't know when to stop with the punishment, so he usually went too far. His father had beaten his mother and his family, and so he didn't know any other way. That's why he was so willing to take the anger management classes at first. He might have been a bad father at times, but he truly loved us. I believe that now.

"My stepfather was different. He was evil. He meant to hurt us and her, and he had this lust for it. He always had this evil look in his eyes, even when he was sober. And he'd say the most evil, cutting things to my mom. He'd hurt her. He'd throw things at her. He'd beat her, just to hear her scream. I heard him say that to her once. He actually told her he was beating her just to hear her scream. He didn't have the ability to beat a man, so he wanted to go for the weaker types. And that was my mom. So he beat her, and us, just for the sake of it. Just for the thrill.

"My mom got into drugs at a young age, which was part of the problem with my dad. I don't know if your family has ever done drugs before, but I think it might be mostly a muggle thing. They're basically these muggle chemicals that mess with people. They're really unhealthy and can cause serious issues and ruin people's lives, but they do them anyway. They say there's this high they get from doing it, so they keep going. Even when their family is ruined and they can't stand up for themselves and they're so drunk even in labor with their children that the muggle doctors refuse to even give them a painkiller for the birth... they keep going. They never stop.

"She won't ever stop. And neither will he. He's done terrible, evil things to her. I have this vision that won't go away of a time when I saw her in the hospital, and she was all bruised and battered and nearly braindead... They told me a few more punches would have killed her. Yet she didn't press charges. She won't ever press charges. And he won't ever stop."

Tears were rolling down my face.

"And I don't know what to do."

Draco pulled me close and held me. I felt the tears come up through all of me and shake my entire body. I cried with every part of me, and he held me as I shook. And when I stopped, I looked up at him through my swollen eyes. His eyes, too, were full of tears. He kissed me regardless of all the wetness from the tears, and I kissed him back.

I don't believe I've ever felt that close to anyone.

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**A/N: Hey all, let me know what you think. I know there isn't all that much plot in this, but it's an important chapter nonetheless. Thanks!**


	4. The Biggest Step

**Except a few key elements for my plotline, it's all J.K. Rowling's. Please, no lawsuits. I'm student teaching now. **

**A/N: The student teaching is why I've been so horrible with updates. Sorry, I'll do the best I can. Promise!**

"I've decided to do something about all this," I declared to Draco the next morning. Letting all of it out had given me a sense of, albeit likely false, hope.

"How so?" he responded.

"Well, I've never let her control my life before, and it's not going to start now."

Draco nodded.

"So I'm just going to... I don't know." My shoulders sagged a bit, then I took a breath and continued. "I'm going to just... face it."

I looked to him for guidance, and he replied, "I see."

A bit disappointed, I frowned at him.

"Well, how do you plan on doing so?" he asked, taking my hands and looking into my eyes.

I wrinkled my forehead in thought, biting my lip slightly. I sighed, then said, "I suppose the way I faced all the rest of it."

"And that is...?"

"Write it out," I responded simply.

Smiling and shaking his head in mild amusement, Draco said, "All right then."

"Exactly."

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So, I wrote. I won't lie; it scared me. It scared me down about as deep as I could feel, and it didn't let up the more I wrote. It increased. I didn't want to know what was in there. I didn't want to know what she had done to me. I didn't want to think about what he had done to her. I didn't want to feel sorry for her, and I didn't want to be angry with her, and I didn't want to... well, frankly, I didn't want to love her.

It just hurt all too much, and I didn't know what to do with it.

Mustering up all the courage I could find, I wrote:

"My mum's the one person who stays in storytime. It's like she was made for it. It's like the storytime is reserved for her and only her. It's like she likes it. If she didn't, after all, why would she lead such a surreal life? She's done everything in her power, it seems, to keep herself there. She does drugs, she dates bad men, she's had every eating disorder in the muggle community, she lost every child she ever had in some way or another. Her personality is surreal; she's surreal. How can I make her real when she doesn't even seem to believe it herself?

Even worse, how can I make her real when I know, above all, I'm safest when she's not? What if I can't face her being reality? And what if I'm too scared to try?"

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"I have no idea how to make my mum real."

My words hung in the air of the room where I visited the counselor. Since it isn't very common for wizards to rely on muggle counseling, she and I had relied on the Room of Requirement since the beginning. She had appointments with a few others, but she always used that room. I wasn't sure why.

I let my mind drift away from the words, thinking that maybe if I tried hard enough, I could just believe they didn't exist. They were a figment of my imagination. I'd never uttered them because, well, I didn't have the situation that would call for words like that.

Nonetheless, there they hung, as if suspended by a charm. I sighed.

The counselor sat in her chair, parchment at the ready, waiting.

I curled into my ball and stared at her over my legs. "Does that even make sense?" I asked in this meek voice I hardly knew.

"Well," she replied, "it's common for setbacks like this to happen when another traumatic event occurs."

I nodded. It certainly had been traumatic. The mother I had nearly forgotten about with all the issues with my stepmom and my dad wrote me a letter that arrived in the middle of a Hogwarts year. The letter contained details about things I never wanted to know in the first place, and her handwriting was all sloppy like she'd been drunk when she wrote it. I wouldn't have been surprised if she was. She always seemed to be drunk when I knew her as a child. She never seemed to stop. She just kept going and going and going and...

"Who kept going?" the counselor asked.

I stared at her, confused. "Wh-what?" I stammered, shaking myself free from my thoughts.

"You said, 'She just kept going,'" she stated. "Who kept going?"

"Oh," I said, still greatly confused. "I hadn't realized I said that out loud."

She smiled a patient smile.

Then I realized she was waiting for me to speak.

"My mum," I muttered. She waited for more. "That is, my mum just kept on drinking."

She nodded.

"No matter what else was going on with her, that was the one thing I could count on." I felt tears in my eyes, and those confused me, too. I brushed a frustrated hand up and swept the tears away.

My voice had returned to the small voice I barely recognized. Before I even realized I was speaking, I added, "Though I guess it was nice to count on something."

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"Any progress?" Draco asked, gently taking my hand as we left the door to the Room of Requirement.

"Some," I responded.

"Clarify?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. "I still don't know how to make Mum real," I said carefully. "And I don't know if I even want her to be, to be honest."

Draco nodded.

I stopped walking and turned to face him. I put on my best brave face and said, "But I suppose now I know it's necessary."

He kissed me on the forehead, and my bravery melted away. Tears formed in my eyes, and putting my forehead against his, I whispered, "And that's a big step, right?"

My voice betrayed me, and I knew he could tell how uncertain I was. Still, he kissed me softly and wiped away my tears with his thumb. "Yes, Love," he responded. "I do believe that's the most important step you can make."

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**A/N: Hey everyone, let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	5. Real

**Everyone it's J.K. Rowling's. What they do? That's all me.**

I spoke slowly and deliberately at first, my voice shaking uncontrollably as I talked about her. Slowly, though, the more I said the words, the more it took me back. I went back, back into a time I thought I'd forgotten. Back to one particular event I didn't want to remember.

"She was lying again. She knew it as well as I did. She always lied. But she wanted so badly for me to believe her. She wanted someone, anyone, to validate what she wanted to accomplish. She wanted some aspects of self-assurance, and she wanted it from me. She wanted me to think she was improving; that she had been trying and working at it. I could see it in her eyes, pleading, begging with me to give her just a shimmer of the hope she needed. The pure, dripping desperation within her voice cut through me, pulling at me. Her hands stretched out toward me, grasping at the human form in front of her. It wasn't me in particular she wanted the assurance from. I believe she didn't even fully know she was speaking with me. She just wanted someone, that someone right there in front of her, to get it. To believe her. She wanted someone to give in to her lies."

The room was silent as I continued to speak. I was in a trance now, scarcely even aware of Draco standing right next to me. My voice was fast; full of emotion. My eyes were glazed; my focus was in the past.

"She told me not to go the same route as her. The alcohol stench was strong from her breath; her voice was slurred nearly beyond recognition; her eyes glassy and full of tears. That shell of a human wanted my help. It was pleading for it. She wanted to know that I wouldn't do the same. She didn't want me to fall into the same trap. I closed off myself in that moment, unable to bear all of it all at once. She was weak; she was incoherent. She was barely even cognisant. Her eyes never met mine. They stared somewhere far into the distance behind me, through me. At her memories of all the regretted past. The past she didn't want me to repeat. The past she repeats over and over again."

I was in the moment. I was there, the brave on the outside yet shaking on the inside girl over that Hogwarts break only a few years ago. Was it really only a few years ago?

"She begs with me, pleads. She wants me to believe her. She tells me over and over that it's done. She's finally over. She's finally all grown up. She's finally putting that bottle down.

I don't believe her.

But she needs me to.

So I lie.

'Okay, Mom,' I reply to all her pleading. 'You just keep trying just like that, and it'll all get better. Just keep on going.'

And inside, I die a little more each time."

I crumbled.

I fell hard into Draco arms, heaving sobs forcing themselves out of my body. I was weak, broken, and I could scarcely hold myself up anymore.

I felt Draco lower me softly to the grass, and I slept.

* * *

There's a point in time where the only way things will ever get better is if they get worse first. That's how it was with her. In that moment, that unbelievable moment when I was _right there_ and it all came together, she was real. 

It broke me up and tore me in two, but she was real.

Knowing it's necessary doesn't help, though. That might have been the biggest step, but there's always a high before the fall.

It hurt. It hurt _bad_. The block was gone. She was there, and she was raw, and I was so scared.

Meals were awkward now. None of the Gryffindors knew anything, and I was afraid to tell them. I didn't want to burden them with even more. Most of the time, I just sat quietly and feigned interest in my food.

"Hermione," Ginny broke into my thoughts, "What's wrong?"

She placed a sweet hand on my shoulder and looked at me in that caring way that nearly made me cringe.

I blinked painfully and forced myself to look away.

"It's nothing," I muttered, even as a tear formed in my eye.

The table was silent for just a moment.

"Hermione," Ginny finally whispered, "let's talk."

And because I was so weak I couldn't do much else, I let her guide me from the room.

* * *

She led me to a place out on the Hogwarts grounds where no one could see us from the castle. It was this little corner of the lawn, where trees surrounded a tiny patch of softer, lighter green grass. Had I been in different spirits, the spot would have made me rather happy. 

Not so much for this time.

"What's wrong?" she repeated softly, her eyes piercing into me as I cringed.

"Nothing's wrong," I muttered, pulling my legs tight against my chest and rocking back and forth ever so slightly. My voice didn't even sound like mine, and I didn't care that she knew I was lying.

"Hermione," she stated matter-of-factly. "Don't give me that."

I refused to look at her.

"It's just..." I started softly, pulling even deeper into myself. I could feel it starting again. That point when everything was so, very overwhelming I couldn't even speak. I began to panic, telling myself that just a few words could get me out of it.

"It's my mom."

My words hung softly in the air as Ginny considered them. At that moment, I remembered she _did _know. One night, late at night in the Burrow, we had been near sleep and so tired neither of us could think straight, and I started talking.

I looked up as I remembered, and I saw the recognition cross her face. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly, her eyes widening.

Before I knew it, I was talking. I was talking and talking and telling her all of it and crying and making a terrible mess of myself and feeling ashamed and relieved and all of it at once and just realizing yet again, as with every time I'd ever talked to her, that Ginny really does care.

That's still so hard for me to believe.

* * *

I explained this all to my counselor the following day. 

"I'm not sure how I feel about not being able to believe people care about me. In some ways, I know they must. They act like they do, and surely they wouldn't lie that much."

I looked to her for guidance, but of course she just gave me the expressionless look.

"I want to believe them. I really do."

I realized my voice held much more emotion than it used to. The thought made me smile ever-so-slightly. I shook my head a bit and sighed, coming back to the moment.

"Somehow, though," I said, wrinkling my eyebrows together in thought, "I just can't."

* * *

**A/N: So, I am sooo sorry it's been so long. I've been unnaturally busy. Then this story is really personal, so it's hard. **

**Anyway, let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	6. Progress

**It's all J.K. Rowling's. Well, enough of it to count anyway.**

We all make choices. Each and every day, there are decisions we make that determine who we are and what we are to become. Some choices are good; some aren't so much. They may depend on the situation, the people around us, or any number of things. But nonethess, they're our decisions and no one else's. And at some point, no matter what decisions we have made, we'll all have to deal with the consequences of them. It's just a matter of when.

I realized this the following day.

Albeit at a very young age, I chose to block it. Call it a defense mechanism; call it what you want.

I chose to ignore what had happened. Then, when I became older, I made that a conscious decision.

I blocked her. I blocked everything about her. I prepared myself each and every time I approached her for the possible downfall that could always occur with her.

This time, I simply wasn't prepared. She had caught me off guard, and that unemotional part of me still hated that.

I didn't like to be caught unguarded.

I still don't.

"How are you doing?" Draco asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I shook my head slowly. "Huh?" I replied.

He laughed softly. "I said, how are you doing?"

I smiled at him, albeit weakly. "I'm... okay," I replied.

"You're sure?" His eyes told me he didn't believe me.

I couldn't really say I blamed him.

I took a deep breath and continued.

"I suppose I'm just starting to realize it's just one of those things." I sighed. "There's nothing I can do about it."

He frowned at me, his eyebrows knitted together. "That sounds like the old Hermione talking."

I let the silence go far too long.

Finally, I took a breath and just shook my head. "I suppose it does," I replied. "It's just hard to deal with all of it without blocking it, you know?"

He nodded silently.

Of course he knew. He always did.

Without another word, I just hugged him. I needed that, and he let me.

* * *

"It's like I can't take her being real. I just can't, for the life of me, keep her there."

As had happened frequently in recent visits to her office, my words hung in the air.

I sighed. She was doing it again. The therapist way of making me talk, by just being silent until I did.

"Well," I began. I always fell for it. "It's like I'm far too close to even consider her. Once I'm there, and I'm _right there _and I know she is close and I know she could hurt me, I just... run." I shrugged, now feeling relatively numb once again.

The counselor looked at me wordlessly for a moment. Then she said, "All right, Hermione, I would like for us to try something new."

I always hate it when she says that.

"I want for us to take time and just let you feel yourself. I want you to let yourself feel what it is that you're feeling and you think you might be blocking."

I hesitated.

"I can turn away completely if you'd like. Here's a blanket, and a pillow." She handed me the items. "I know some people like to use them." She had that tone in her voice again. That patronizing, annoying tone of voice. I especially hated how much I responded to it.

"Now I'll just turn around here and let you be by yourself for a moment."

I found myself grasping onto the pillow whole-heartedly. I wanted the blanket, too, but I refused to let myself have it. The pillow was just fine for now, I thought.

She talked about some things while we sat there, her facing the door and me facing that same wall I always face. I don't remember any of what she said now. They were sorts of suggestions for what to think about during this time.

I didn't need them.

In those moments, with the tension in the air and my breath all I could really focus on, floods came. My father, my stepmother, my sisters... how they were all doing and how we had all gotten this far. My muggle grandmother and how sweet she was while she was still alive, that one time I got in trouble and the beating that ensued...

Floods and floods of memories overcame me in those moments. The tears formed in the recesses of my eyes, threatening to spill.

She was asking me something. I could tell. Her voice had changed. I came back to the present.

I couldn't speak.

I tried, fruitlessly, to say a word. I made small noises from the back of my throat; I panicked. Here it was again, right in the middle of a session with her, and I just couldn't say a word. I tried for nonrelated words. Just anything that was basic speech I might have been able to produce at that moment, but to no avail. I tried screaming within myself, whispering to get out, anything I could. I just wanted her to know I wasn't ignoring her and I wasn't trying to be difficult, it was just that I couldn't speak because it had gone too long. Far, far too long.

I had let too much in at once, and now I was paying the price.

"I..." It sounded choked. Choked and forced.

I wanted to explain. I wanted her to know what was happening.

"I, sometimes..." Still forced; still choked. My head spun. My thoughts were a mess inside it, twirling and twirling and...

I laughed.

I laughed at myself for my predicament. I doubt I thought it was funny. I tried again.

"Sometimes, I..." Another deep breath. "Sometimes it's just that I..." For some reason, there was just that block there. I wanted to get through it. Needed to, even.

"Sometimes it's just too much," I finally uttered. I breathed a sigh of relief. That first full sentence was always the hardest.

"Sometimes it's just too much and I just... freeze."

She nodded slowly.

"There was just too much in there, all at once."

Again, she nodded. Then checked the time.

"Well, I'll need to go soon."

I breathed. I wanted to tell her, but I knew I couldn't get it out in time.

"Do you have any suggestions for me for next time?" she asked politely.

"Don't let it get so far."

* * *

"I just couldn't speak...again," I whispered softly as Draco held me.

"I understand," he whispered into my hair, lightly kissing it. "It'll all be okay."

Somehow, in that moment, there in his arms, I actually believed him.

Even if I didn't know why.

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone, I'm sooo sorry for the lateness on this one. My student teaching is over tomorrow! That means free time... sort of. Anyway, expect better updates in both of my stories soon. As for now, let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	7. Off to Break

**Some things are J.K. Rowling's. I'm not her.**

Christmas break was fast approaching, and I did my best to mentally prepare. After the recent incident with my counselor, I had gone numb again. I knew it always happened that way. Something would hit me far too hard, and I'd just shut down. She told me it was another part of survival and to not try and stop myself every time, but I just wanted to. I didn't want to be numb anymore.

So, instead, I wrote. I tore a piece of parchment and took out a quill. Sighing, I let the ink touch down, and suddenly, it was writing itself.

"I'm scared. I don't want to go home. I don't want to face that all over again. I don't want to see the looks on my sisters' faces when they know; I don't want to see how my stepmom will react to everything. I don't want to see Mum again over break. I don't want to have it all hit me all at once all over again with her and the family and the issues that come with family and seeing her every single time and I don't want to deal with that one more drink she always has to have and those eyes that are always just so glazed over... I don't want to see Dad in his jail cell, trying to convince me he really would do better next time. I don't want to have to come face to face with that evil man my mother married again, only to try to put on my fake smile and pretend I like him. I don't want to hear him tell me yet again that he's always loved me and he'd never do anything to hurt her. I don't want to pretend I believe that lie. I don't want to feel the guilt that comes with just wanting to go away from each and every one of them and hide in my little corner. I just want it to be better. I want it all to magically disappear and for my little world to be stable again. Too bad there's not a spell for that."

I was shaking as I wrote those last words, and I felt the quill slip from my fingers. I vaguely noticed the small puddle of ink that was forming on the parchment, but it soon blurred with unshed tears. Then all at once, the tears were spilling and my back was heaving with the sobs yet again, and I was shaking all over...

And then there was Draco. His arms around me, holding me tight through the tears. My head on his shoulder, his fingers running lightly through my hair. The sweat running down my face, mingling with the tears that spilled on his cloak. The soft, cooing voice assuring me that everything would be okay, and the voice from what seemed like so long ago that always told me that.

It was my mum's voice. As he rocked me and my tears began to dry, I remembered. There was that day, and my grandmum's house, where I crawled up on her lap with my cold feet, and she rubbed them for me. She told me how cold they were, and she couldn't understand why they were so cold. I loved being on her lap, with that attention she was giving me. She held me so gently as she talked to the others in the room.

I enjoyed it so much that, a few moments later, I left her lap. I made my way to the loo, and I dunked my feet in the cool water to make them cold again. I returned to her, and she warmed them right up all over again. I couldn't remember how many times I went back to that loo to gain her affection. It was so rare, and I wanted it so badly, that I would've done almost anything to get it.

My breathing was starting to regulate again, even through the silent tears I had begun to cry. Wordlessly, I let them fall slowly down my face. I tasted the salt and felt the moisture, but I didn't care. I let myself cry, there in Draco's arms.

Slowly, moments later, I took the top of my robe and ran it gently under my own eyes to dry the tears.

I was finished crying now. I knew I'd be dazed for a while, but I was at least better. Draco kissed me softly, and I offered him a weak smile.

I whispered, "Thanks," and he held me tighter.

* * *

Before I really wanted it, I found myself back on the Hogwarts Express for home. I shivered at that word. "Home." Somehow it just didn't fit. 

Mum (my stepmum, that is) embraced me as soon as I stepped on the platform.

"Hermione, how I've missed you!" she exclaimed, swaying from side to side through the hug. I loved the warmth I got from her.

I smiled as we broke apart. "I missed you as well," I replied.

"Oh, and Draco, it's so nice to see you again!" she exclaimed to him, pulling him into a hug.

Over the summer, he had had a little more practice with my mother, so he knew it had been coming. Hence, he hugged her back with just as much warmth as she gave him, and smiled as they parted. "You as well, Miss Granger," he said.

"Now will we be seeing you around the house this break?" she asked, her eyes hopeful.

He looked to me, and I offered him a small shrug with a smile. "Sure," he replied, "if your daughter approves."

"Well," she responded, "I'm sure she will."

"Draco, Darling," we heard from behind us. She and I turned to find Narcissa Malfoy a few feet behind us.

"Hello, Mother," Draco said politely.

"Hello," she said. Then, as if she had just noticed my mother and I standing there, she smiled a semi-genuine smile and extended her hand to Mum. "Narcissa Malfoy," she said politely.

"Cynthia Granger," she responded, shaking the much taller woman's hand. If I knew my mother at all, I figured she was quite intimidated at that point.

"It's a pleasure," Narcissa drawled, releasing the other woman's hand. She turned to Draco. "Ready, Darling?" she asked.

"Of course, Mother," he responded. "One moment?"

"All right," she replied. "I'll go and say hello to Gennette then."

"Right then," he responded, turning to me.

"Gennette?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

"Parkinson," he replied, laughing at the disgusted look I gave.

"Well," he said, "you have a good break." He didn't hide the sympathetic look.

"I'll try," I responded, offering the best smile I could.

He kissed me softly, then was off to meet his mother.

"Nice boy, that one," Mum said as he left.

"That he is," I replied, smiling.

"So, we're off?" she asked.

"I'd think so," I responded, hoping she couldn't hear the weariness in my voice.

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone. I'm really sorry I haven't updated this in so long, but this story takes a lot out of me. I had to be ready for it, and it took a little while. I'm also sorry this chapter doesn't seem to have many scenes or whatever, but I just wanted to get the update out there. I have the next chapter almost completely planned out, so it should come shortly. Please review, even if I'm an irresponsible author who doesn't update often enough... Thanks! **


	8. Forced Visits

**The people are mostly J.K. Rowling's. I just play... in an odd sort of fashion.**

There was glass between us. That glass was there, and I was on a muggle telephone. His eyes were glazed and dull; his smile forced and weary. I closed my eyes and looked away. 

Mum had already talked to him. She was in the other room with my sisters, who had also already talked to him. 

I was the last one. 

I couldn't find words to say. 

"So how's school going?" he asked politely, trying to catch my eye through that harsh glass between us. 

"It's fine, Dad," I responded softly. 

"Getting as high of marks as ever?" he asked in a false happy voice. 

"Of course," I responded wryly. "How are things with you?" 

His eyes dulled a little more. "They're going," he said. "As well as can be expected, anyway." 

I nodded. 

"So I heard about your mum," he said softly. _Is that his idea of small talk?_

Shaking my head to avoid the immediate thought, I just nodded. "Nothing out of the ordinary," I said coldly. 

He shrugged. "Not now, it isn't." 

I looked up at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" 

He sighed. "Hermione, surely you know your mother wasn't always the way she is." 

I shrugged. I thought about it and said, "I guess I remember a few times when she wasn't so bad." 

"She used to be a wonderful woman," he said, and I thought I detected the slightest hint of nostalgia in his voice. "She didn't drink often at all, and she cared about everyone. She was actually quite similar to her mother." 

At the mention of my grandmum, my heart sank. "I've heard that," I said softly. 

"It's the drugs that did it to her." 

"Like with you?" The words were out of my mouth before I realized I had said them. 

I refused to look at him, but I heard the beginnings of tears in his voice when he replied. Sadly, he said, "Yeah, like with me." 

"I'm sorry," I said out of necessity more than anything. 

"No, you're not," he replied. 

I shrugged. 

"Besides," he added. "It's true." 

I nodded almost imperceptibly. 

"You know I never meant to do anything to hurt you or your mother, don't you?" 

I froze at the words, fighting against that spiral downward, back into the past where I heard those almost daily... 

I breathed. "I know, Dad," I replied as always. I immediately wanted to go then. 

"I really didn't," he assured me. 

I just nodded. 

"When I get out of here, I'm getting clean," he added. "For real this time." 

"Okay, Dad," I responded. I fought the tears I didn't want him to see. _I'll believe that when I see it. _I took a deep breath. "I need to go," I said. 

"I know," he said. "I love you.'

I looked up at him and saw the vague reflection of those tears in my eyes in the glass. "I love you, too," I responded quietly. 

I hung up the phone, and I was gone.

* * *

I was alone with her. All my sisters stayed with my stepmum. I had just stopped by for a visit out of the usual necessity. 

The vague blue tint to her right eye showed even through the sunglasses. Eventually she just removed them. 

"Getting as high of marks as ever?" she asked. 

"Of course," I responded, as I always did. 

"That's my girl," she responded proudly, and I fought the urge to scream. 

I managed a small grimace. 

"So how's your father?" she asked. 

"He's fine," I responded. 

"You know, I could've had him any time I wanted," she said. She always said that. 

"You've told me that," I responded, I hoped without annoyance. 

"He cheated on her, you know." I nodded. 

"With me." I nodded. 

"I could've had him." I nodded. 

"Just didn't want him." Again, nodded. 

Our conversations always went this way. She said things I never wanted to know; I acknowledged them with a nod or some vague, noncommittal statement. 

"John's doing just fine," she said. Clenching my jaw, I nodded. 

"Just got out of jail last week." Completely oblivious to the irritability I showed her, she continued. "I didn't press charges," she said. "He said he was really sorry this time." _Just like every other time._

I just nodded. 

"He'll be moving back in within the week," she added, taking another drink of her beer. 

"Uh huh," I responded. 

"He says he'll really change this time," she added. I could never figure out if she was trying to convince me or herself. 

She must've detected my disbelief, because she said, "He really does!" 

Again, I nodded. 

"You know, he's really not that bad of a guy," she continued. "We just fight sometimes." 

I took another deep breath. 

"He's good to me a lot of the time," she said. "He protects me." 

She wanted so bad for me to believe her. "I know you think so, Mum," I finally said. 

I stood up then. "I need to go, though." 

And there were those pleading eyes. "You can't stay?" she asked, childlike as ever. 

"No, Mum, I have to get back," I said. 

"Well, come here and give your mum a hug, then," she said. 

I willed myself forward and complied. It was another hug where she needed it more than I did. I suppressed my sigh. 

Once outside, I called for a taxi, and I was gone.

* * *

**A/N: Again, not too much plot within it. But it gives you some realistic idea of what goes on with all of it. More should be coming soon. I know I do have the ideas in my head; I'm just hoping to get the time to write them here.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	9. That Form on the Bed

**Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's world. I'm just writing.**

**This chapter is really intense. Just a warning. **

Things went peacefully for a few days. My sisters, Mum, and I went to visit Dad for Christmas. It went basically okay. He had begun taking anger management classes, and they seemed to be doing well for him.

For the moment, anyway.

Draco came to visit the day after Christmas.

"Is this him?" my sister Victoria whispered to me when he walked in the door.

Eight year olds are so sweet.

"Yes, it's him," I said quietly, trying not to laugh.

"He's cute," she whispered. Then, seeing his eyes on her, she turned bright red and abruptly left the room.

He smiled a conspiratorial smile at me as she left. "Nice," he said simply.

I smiled in return and melted immediately into his waiting arms. "You smell so good," I said, breathing deeply.

"You always say that," he muttered into my hair.

I laughed and cuddled a little deeper.

The phone rang.

"Hermione, phone," Mum said from the other room. Her voice didn't sound quite right. My heart jumped in my chest.

I ran to the phone, Draco close behind.

"Hello?" I said into the receiver. I tried to ignore the curious look with which Draco eyed the phone.

"Hermione?" said a female voice from the other end of the line.

"Aunt Carolyn?" I replied quietly. This couldn't be good.

"Yes, Dear, it's me," she said. "I need you to get to the hospital as soon as you can."

My heart crashed straight to the pit of my stomach.

"What- what happened?" I asked.

"Just come quickly," she said. I could tell she was trying to hide the panic in her voice.

"Is it...?"

"Yes," she replied before I could finish. "Just please don't tell your sisters until we know for sure."

"Right," I replied numbly. "Well, goodbye, then," I muttered.

I only vaguely heard her "goodbye" as the phone met the receiver.

I walked away slowly in the same daze I always had when it involved my mum. I went to grab my coat and absentmindedly handed Draco a muggle coat as well. "You'll need this," I muttered softly.

"Where are we going?" he asked quietly, his hand on my shoulder.

"Hospital," I replied quietly. I saw the worry in Mum's eyes at the word. I shrugged.

"We'll go by car," I added to Draco. "Is that okay with you?"

"Sure, Love," he replied.

I didn't respond. I was too busy moving on to find the keys.

* * *

I scarcely remembered the trip to the hospital. Before I knew it I was there, on the threshold of the emergency room, almost smiling wryly at the idea that I couldn't remember the trip.

That smile was a bad sign.

"Jeanne Lynngrad," I mumbled to the receptionist.

"Straight ahead to the left," she said in the usual business tone.

I vaguely wondered if she remembered me from my last visit not long ago.

I swallowed a hard, loud swallow and walked. Somewhere in the process, I remember Draco holding my hand.

I turned to him, unable to meet his eyes. "You don't have to come if you don't want," I near-whispered.

"Of course I do, Love," he replied quietly, squeezing my hand.

"But I don't know..."

His fingers on my lips stopped them from speaking any more. "I'm coming with you," he said matter-of-factly.

I nodded to the inevitable and stepped across the door.

That form on that bed couldn't be her.

Those white sheets and that sterile environment and that IV and that oxygen tank... those were for someone else's mum, not mine.

There must have been a mistake.

"There must be a..." my voice trailed off as I eyed the dark purple of her skin. The cuts were bad, much worse than last time. "A mistake," I finished quietly, not even sure if my voice made a sound.

The nurse standing by her bedside eyed me with pity. "I'm sorry, Miss," she said softly, "but that's Jeanne Lynngrad." Then, seemingly unsure of what to do, she quickly vacated the room.

There aren't words for the shock.

I felt a hand on my shoulder a few moments later and looked up to see my aunt. I quickly looked away.

"It was him, wasn't it?" My voice was cold again. I didn't care.

I caught her nod out of the corner of my eye.

"Will she be okay?" I didn't want to ask the question.

She sighed. "I think so," she said. "She's much more stable now than she was when I called."

I nodded, scarcely aware of Draco's thumb running along mine.

"This is Draco from school," I muttered to Aunt Carolyn. I may have seen him offer a hand to shake. "And this is my Aunt Carolyn," I said to Draco. I think she might have given a nod of agreement or otherwise greeting.

I closed my eyes to try to rid them of the sight. It only made it solidify that much harder into my brain. Her face was swollen, deep purple, and still bleeding in places. I thought I saw the outline of a cast on her left leg under the sheets. She looked so tiny. She was crushed; broken.

I don't know how long I stood there before Aunt Carolyn spoke again.

"Look, Hermione," she said softly, and I jumped in response.

"Yeah?" I replied, regaining composure.

"I need to go."

I nodded.

"Will you be okay here?"

Another nod.

She waited a moment as if discerning the true answer. I'm not even sure I knew what that was.

I noticed her look to Draco, who nodded something in response.

She hugged me. I think I hugged her back.

I sat on the chair nearest to the bed.

I don't know how long I sat there.

* * *

At some point it became morning. 

Draco had gone to find something to eat, and I was left to sit once again.

A groan came from the form on the bed.

"Mum?"

My voice sounded like a child's.

"Hermione?" I bit my lip.

"It's me," I said softly. "How are you feeling?" I knew it was a dumb question, but I didn't know what else to say.

I saw her shake her head at the question.

She held her hand out as best she could, and I took it.

Then those swollen eyes were on mine, bloodshot and boring into me.

Her voice came as a whisper.

"He said he'd change," she began. I took a deep breath and tried to convince myself not to run at the words. "He said it'd be different this time." I nodded, biting my lip all over again. "He said it was all better, and it seemed like it was better."

"What happened?"

My voice was from a time long ago, back when she was Mum and I was just Hermione and that monster of a man had never existed. Back when I envisioned a happier time.

"We were at a Christmas party, and he was drinking. He drank a lot." I tried to conceal my lack of surprise and listen. "The more he drank, the meaner he was. I did something wrong once we got home, I don't remember what now. But he started hitting me, and hitting me, and..." Tears filled my mother's eyes. "I passed out, and now I'm here."

Sadly, that moment was the most sober I had seen her in a long time.

I tried so hard not to give in to the numb.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know, it's been an incredibly long time since I've updated. I've been at summer camp. If I can have enough energy to keep going with as intense as this story is, I'll try to update soon. Let me know what you think, though. Thanks.**

**Also, does this chapter make it an "M" rating? I don't think so, but I don't know for sure... **


	10. Something Much Larger

**Disclaimer: It belongs to JKR, not me. **

Regardless of my attempts, I knew from that moment it was futile to try not giving in to the numb.

My mum... lying on the bed... just... formless.

Draco held me frequently in the coming days. The day of returning to Hogwarts was approaching fast, and I was still lost.

My thoughts and emotions weren't so much completely numb as a swirl. A deep, confusing, at times colorful and at times starkly black and white swirl of spinning and spinning color... Spinning like a wheel, out of control, out of my head. Out of my life.

This couldn't be real.

I felt myself pull back into myself. Back into that tunnel. Back into nothingness.

* * *

School was once again in session, and I was going through the motions. I was going through the motions, and again I didn't quite care.

Some first year approached me with some menial question that, on most days, would have only annoyed me. It should've only annoyed me. But I snapped at the poor boy. Snapped completely, bit off some nasty comment that sent him running in tears.

_Run, run, scared little boy_.

I had no idea where that came from.

I found the first year later that day, apologized profusely, and came away with a hug. But I couldn't help the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach.

* * *

I went to my appointment with the counselor to tell her about my holiday. She seemed sympathetic enough, but I don't know for sure that I cared even then. I know for certain that at that point I no longer necessarily wanted to care.

"It's as though I'm just on the brink," I explained in a voice I knew to be much too calm. "I'm on the brink of something much larger than anything, much larger than anything I've ever encountered."

She just nodded.

"There's almost..." I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

She looked at me curiously.

I thought about what I was going to say, knowing it was crazy. "Sometimes," I said slowly, "it seems like that insecure part of me is real. Very, very real."

She nodded. "Yes," she said, "that's common in trauma victims."

"I know that," I said politely. "But more real than before."

Given I hadn't even given enough thought to the subject to even realize it myself before the moment I started speaking, I didn't really know which direction I was going.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was calm, the ideal therapist.

That same voice in the back of my head chastized her for it. She said this woman didn't know anything about me. She wondered why I was there.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts.

The little girl was cowering now. She was cowering in her little corner. She didn't like the mean one. She didn't know what to do with the mean one.

_This is crazy_.

_Poor little girl, _chastized the mean one in my head. _Couldn't stand seeing that one little moment. Couldn't take the two seconds of pain. Pathetic, poor little girl was the whole reason for all of it. The whole reason for everything_.

I knew it seemed crazy, even as part of me cowered away from another part of me. Somehow, though, they didn't even seem like part of me anymore. Something had happened, in some moment within the past few days. It was almost as though something had snapped.

* * *

I could tell Draco was beginning to wear down with all the burdens I had put on him recently. So I decided to do something nice for him.

We went for a walk, one of the walks like the ones we used to take, where we held hands in silence. At the end of the clearing, I had arranged a picnic. It was just the two of us, in our own little world, and it was amazing. In that moment, we were free. It was just him, and it was just me, and the rest of the world simply didn't exist.

He kissed me completely, and I kissed him back more completely than I had in a while. I tried with all my might to put my emotional energy into that day. I wanted it to be perfect. I didn't want anything to come between us.

And it didn't. For one day, I gave just a little back out of everything I felt I'd been taking from him recently. For once, I served him. I helped calm him down. I even offered a massage at the end of our picnic, which he gladly accepted. I had helped him relax like all the times he'd helped me relax. It felt good.

I didn't tell Draco about the extra voice in my head, not that day or within even the following week. I was afraid to tell him. There was just this anger, this deep, building anger that was so severe and so strong all the sudden that it was almost intoxicating. It was complete; it was pure.

It was real.

It was addictive.

And it scared me senseless.

**A/N: It's been a really, really long time since I updated. I'm really sorry, but that last chapter was very difficult to add anything to. Now, though, I think I have a genuine direction for the story to go. Originally, it was just sort of formless with no real stream of thought. But I think I might be able to salvage this story yet. Wish me luck...**

**And sorry this one's so short, but I'm going to write the next chapter pretty much right now. So the update should be soon. Thanks!**


	11. My Voices

**Disclaimer: Anything that's directly tied to HP is JK Rowling's. Since I'm not her, it's not mine.**

Over the following week, I became more and more inside my own head. The angry one simply would not leave the little girl in my head alone. I became a mediator between the two of them, frequently stopping the arguments they had.

Simply put, the angry one was upset at the little girl for making us the way we were.

And yes, I thought of it in terms of "us."

In some ways, I suppose I did realize there was an incredibly, unavoidably _off_ quality to all of it. It simply was not natural to have frequent conversations with one's self... or selves... when no one else was around. It wasn't normal to be nearly entertained with the dialogue between your own personalities in your head. It's not natural.

But that didn't mean I didn't enjoy it to some extent.

* * *

On the outside, I did a fairly decent job of not letting everyone around me know about the little battle going on inside my head. Every once in a while I'd joke to my closest friends about hearing my voices, but for some reason, Harry didn't seem to think it was very funny.

"Exactly what types of voices?" he asked suspiciously one day.

"Oh, you know," I said casually, "just parts of me that like to argue with one another."

"What do they say?" he prodded.

"Depends on the situation, really," I responded just as casually. The extent to which it was becoming almost normal for me to have my voices was really quite alarming. "Sometimes they just talk about the day, and sometimes they argue about things that used to happen."

Somehow, the look on Harry's face told me he knew I was no longer joking.

"You know, Hermione," he said softly, "I used to hear voices like that myself, and you know why..."

"I know, Harry," I said. "But I know it's nothing like that. Voldemort wouldn't be concerned with whether my childhood self made me become numb, now would he?"

"I suppose you're right," he said grudgingly, but he didn't seem to much believe it.

For Ron's part, he liked to pretend I hadn't said anything at all. I could tell he stood by what he had told Harry in second year: Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices no one else can hear is not a good thing.

* * *

Due to the nature of what my counselor and I had discussed within our last meeting, she was intent on discussing random elements of my past. She wanted to know more about the emotional spectrum of the little girl in my head. So I told her, and she seemed convinced the little girl was primarily angry. She didn't understand that the girl wasn't so much angry as hurt and also just every emotion a small child would be expected to have.

Some days, she'd jump in the back of my head in excitement. Or she'd be at rest, taking a nap. Sometimes, she'd be pounding her little fists on the ground, completely and totally upset with the world. Some days, she'd just sulk. She was really quite temperamental, but I'd never tell her that. If I did, she'd just throw a fit and I'd be right back into the numb.

I, of course, explained all of this to my counselor. She nodded and jotted down all the notes on her parchment.

By the time she had finished asking me questions, though, it was time to go. We said our goodbyes as per usual, and I walked down the corridor.

The angry one was not happy. Since I realized this, given she was bullying the little girl more than normal, I asked her what the problem was. It turned out she was jealous because she didn't get any playing time within the counseling session. So I told her we'd be sure to let her talk some within the next session and we went through some meditations that helped her be more calm.

The entire time I was discussing the situation with her, I was still completely in touch with the fact that having her and the little girl around wasn't normal. I knew especially that the way they seemed to be developing their own personalities more and more as the time went on was even less normal.

So I decided to do some research. I looked up muggle psychological disorders, and I found one that seemed to fit. It had to do with multiple personalities that reside in the heads of people who've had traumatic histories. I already knew there was something serious to do with trauma in my head, but I wasn't completely sure where the line was between psychological discontent and, essentially, crazy.

I had a feeling I was riding it, if I hadn't crossed over already.

* * *

Even though I had told Draco about my voices, he liked to claim I wasn't completely crazy. He'd tell me it was normal or at least something that everyone has happen sometimes, but I know I didn't emphasize what was really going on as clearly as it was happening in my head. For our part, though, that was good.

As much as my head was going just a slight bit crazy, our relationship was improving immensely.

I had taken much more time out of my busy life to make it work, and my efforts were paying off. Though it was far from making our own personal wards in order to make the picnic happen in the middle of winter during my first attempt, I continuously made little efforts to be closer to him. If nothing else, I tried my best to focus more on him and less on me in our everyday conversations.

"So how was your day?" I asked him after my counseling appointment.

"It's been okay," he said.

"How were classes?"

"Pretty good. McGonagall had us transfiguring ourselves today... I'm not so sure it was the best plan, though."

"How's that?" I asked, naturally reaching over to hold his hand as we walked through the corridors.

"Well, you see, it's quite difficult to, as a frog, do the exact wand movements necessary to make yourself a human again." His expression was deadpan for about a second before he started laughing with me.

"Usually she's so good with her planning..." I muttered, still giggling a bit.

"Yeah, well, must've been a long night last night or something, because she wasn't quite in her right mind this morning."

Part of me realized Professor McGonagall might not have been the only one not quite in her right mind that morning, even as I continued laughing along.

**A/N: Wow, that was my quickest update on this story in quite a while. It's good that I finally have a full direction for it, though.**

**Like I said with I Didn't Want Them to Know, some of this may seem unreal. At the same point, though, as crazy as it sounds, it can happen. It's really not as uncommon as we'd all like to believe.**

**Anyway, all entirely too seriousness aside, let me know what you thought of it. Thanks!**


	12. Falling Apart

**Disclaimer: They're JK Rowling's. Their world is hers. This particular plot, though, is mine.**

It was probably only a few days later when things started to fall apart.

It wasn't so much that I wasn't recognizing the passage of time, it was more that I just didn't realize how _much _time was passing when it did. My concept of my life, myself, and my surroundings was completely skewed from what I figured was reality. At least, what I could surmise from the feedback I was getting from other people anyway.

"Hermione, where are you today?" Draco asked briskly.

"What?" He didn't realize I was genuinely confused. I wasn't completely aware I'd been ignoring him.

"I just don't get it," he said, and I could tell he was sincerely frustrated. "You ask me question after question, then you're just not even around for the answers."

I shrugged. "I'm sorry," I said as calmly as I could. "I've just not been myself recently."

"I'd say so," he muttered.

"What do you mean?" I had thought I was doing so well controlling it all.

"Hermione, things were great for a little bit. We were even getting better."

I nodded my agreement, though the "but" that was inevitably coming had turned my insides to stone.

"But I just don't know what's up with you right now."

I looked away. A part of me vaguely realized that was probably not the appropriate response.

"I just..." He paused, and I quickly looked up at him. Noting the tears starting to form in his eyes, I immediately looked away again.

"Maybe I should figure it out on my own," I said a little too coldly. I had a feeling it was the angry one, not me, who was speaking.

He sighed. "It's not that I don't want to help you, but it's just..."

"It's too much for one person to handle." This time it was a resigned understanding. It was too much for this one person to handle, too.

"Something like that," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry," he said, taking my hands in his.

I felt the tears in my eyes before I felt the pain. "It's okay," I said softly.

He ran his thumbs along my hands, and the familiarity of the gesture brought me out of myself if only for that moment. I hugged him with all I had just then, unable to let him go.

Then slowly, inevitably, we parted.

And then he was gone, and we were alone.

* * *

I was going for a walk alone on the grounds that night when I started another three-way conversation in my head.

Well, really, it was more the continuation of the norm with more emphasis on doing so purposefully than anything.

There were tears in my eyes.

The little girl, who had liked Draco so much, was curled up in a ball in the back of my head, sobbing quietly and refusing to speak.

"Sshh," I said aloud, softly, in those mothering tones I'd learned to use with her. "It'll be okay."

For that moment, the angry one was silent too. I had a feeling she knew it wasn't the time to make fun.

The little girl curled into an even tighter ball, crying harder. I cried along with her.

"Sshh," I repeated, succumbing to the responses from my body and curling up in a ball myself, having found a bench. "We'll learn to live without him."

The little girl shook her head almost violently in disagreement. Then, the tiniest, "I won't."

"I know, I know," I said softly. "I liked him too."

She fell silent again.

The angry one joined in. "Look, I know you trusted him."

It was the first time I'd heard the angry one speak in civil tones.

"Yes, I do play nice sometimes," she said in an agitated way, having overheard my surprise.

"Anyway," she continued, more softly, "I know you trusted him, both of you."

We nodded.

"I know you liked him. I know he was your entire world, and I know that now you don't know what to do without him. I know it's hard."

"Really hard," I added.

"Yes, really hard," she conceded. "I know it is. I know you think you'll never love again, that you'll never be able to live without him. That life won't be the same."

We fell silent.

"But the truth is," she continued, "you will. We all will."

I nodded slowly, and the little girl uncurled just the tiniest bit.

"Because we're strong," she said. "We have something no one else has. No matter what, we have each other. And they can't take that away."

I nodded again, a little more strongly.

"We can do this. We can be strong. We can be tough." The little girl perked up just a little. "Yes, even you. We can all be tough. We can each use our strengths, and we can work together, and we can do this."

And from the back of my head, I heard the tiniest, "Yeah, we can do this."

Even throughout the conversation, I knew it was an odd conversation to have. I knew it wasn't common to talk so concretely with one's self. I knew, though, that it wasn't just myself. I knew that, at that point, there were concretely three people, sharing that space. It was me, and it was the two of them, and we had learned to work together.

I smiled the entire way back to the castle, having achieved what I knew to be the closest to inner peace I could find.

* * *

From that point, it was me with my voices.

Harry, though, continued to show concern.

"Hermione," he said slowly, "I really do worry about this."

"I know," I said softly, feeling almost as though I was just saying it to agree. "Sometimes I worry too."

"Are you seeing your counselor still?"

"Yeah, I am," I said, my face falling a bit at the look of concern on his.

"Have you told her?"

"A little bit," I replied.

"Have you explained enough of it to her?" I shrugged. "Hermione, this could be a serious issue."

"I know," I said with even more emphasis. "I know it's odd. I know it's crazy. I know I'm teetering on this line between sanity and the completely insane, and I know I'm starting to lean."

He didn't respond.

"I know I'm about to go over," I continued. "I know I stand an incredibly dangerous chance of falling."

He nodded. "That's exactly what my concern is," he said softly.

"And I know you're concerned. I know you don't know what to do with me." I sighed. "But the thing is, Harry, I can't stop it."

He bit his lip in seeming frustration, partial concern.

"I can't stop it, Harry, I just can't. There _are _three people in my head right now. There _are _voices that talk to me on a regular basis. There _are _situations where I have these conflicts between what they're saying and what is going on in the world. There just _are._"

He nodded, having held his arms out to me. Somewhat reluctantly, I fell into his hug. He felt good. Like a brother. It'd been so long since I'd had a real hug.

"Sshh," he muttered. "I know how it feels, Hermione," he said. "Believe me, I know."

"But maybe you don't," I almost whispered. "Maybe it's not quite the same feeling."

I broke away a little, though I avoided his peering gaze. "For you, Harry, it was Voldemort."

He nodded.

"And for me, it's just... me." Sighing, I leaned into him all over again.

Then, almost so quietly I didn't hear myself, came the slightest of a whisper:

"Maybe I _am_ crazy."

* * *

**A/N: I almost gave up on this story. This entry was supposed to let you all know that I was ending it, right where it stood, and let anyone who wanted to know the ending that I'm willing to offer outlines.**

**Then I reread it. And I considered it. And this came. **

**So as of now, it's still alive. It's crazy, yes. It's a little touch of the insane. It's almost overboard... but eerily realistic at points.**

**I know you're all mad at me about Draco. It'll get better, trust me.**

**Review?**


	13. The Moment It All Began

**Disclaimer: As per always with this site, I don't own the characters. Just the plot I put them in. **

* * *

The day it snapped—the day it truly, completely snapped—was a day like all the rest. I was sitting in the common room, quill in hand. My hand was perched an inch above my parchment, intent on writing the next line of my potions essay.

I blinked, and the words disappeared from my head.

I blinked again, and the common room floor was tile. Then it was its typical stone with the rug laid out. Then tile again… then the rug.

I blinked repeatedly, trying desperately to make sense of my head.

Tile… rug… tile… rug… it flashed in and out, in and out, just within the realm of vision but not quite.

I took a deep breath, looked a little farther away.

The stairway to the boys' dormitories. Also flashing, tile, stone, tile, stone….

I didn't want to go there.

I knew, for certain, I did _not_ want to go there.

But I didn't know why.

Calmly as possible, assuring myself there must be a rational explanation for all of this, I kicked off my shoes. Deliberately, quite firmly, I felt the fibers of the rug on the sole of my feet.

Rug, yes. Most definitely that was a rug I was feeling under my feet.

Yet the tile continued to flash.

For once, the voices were silent.

Tile…rug…tile…rug. It was endless. And I knew it would continue to be.

Stretching out my wrist, which was now stiff from holding my quill so long in the same position, I retrieved another piece of parchment.

And I began to write.

_Images, flashing, pieces of the unknown. Pieces of life, pieces of past? Pieces of places I didn't want to be and definitely don't want to go. _

_Pieces of tile on floors and stairways leading to bad. Just bad._

_Somewhere I never want to be._

_Bad._

_Taking a deep breath, I force myself to go in my mind._

_Closing my eyes, cover the distance to the stairs. Raising my head high, ascending the stairs._

_Voices. Voices, now. Voices of adults. Of grown adults, talking. Something bad? Yes, something bad has happened. _

_It's my grandmum's voice. Something bad has happened to Mum. Something bad has happened that had never happened before._

_Something very bad._

_Ascending the stairs, turning the corner, …_

_THERE._

_On the bed. _

_That still form._

_Just like in all those nightmares, just like in all those thoughts, just like the other day, only then._

_Only that time._

_Those bruises, those cuts, those machines breathing life into her because she doesn't have the will or ability to breathe on her own…_

_THERE._

_Right then._

_That's the moment it all began._

* * *

From that moment on, the voices were still. I couldn't explain it then, not really, and I still can't explain it today. They say, in some schools of psychology, that with some people there's a moment.

There's a period in time, a significant point, where it all begins. When the division happens.

They say, in those schools, that if we find that point, that one divisive point, where the personality couldn't take it and just began to separate… they say if we find that one point, and we look at it again, sometimes, when we look at it again, they can learn to merge. They can find their common ground, and they can look at it from an adult perspective and all be one again.

They say.

Perhaps.

All I know for sure is, my counselor tested me at the next appointment. She utilized a scale for assessing multiple personalities, or Dissociate Identity Disorder, as it's now called.

I didn't register.

I told her, as I was answering her questions, they would've been different the week prior. She didn't seem to care, necessarily, so long as I answered them honestly that day.

But they didn't register.

And that was that.

And finally, after all that time, I was me again.

I was me, and that was enough.

* * *

**A/N: As with my last insanely long ago update to this story, this was going to be my goodbye entry. It was going to be, yet again, the moment I say I'm just done with this story and possibly that I shouldn't have started it in the first place. To be honest, though, I hate to have started a plot line and especially to have torn apart such a beautiful romance without at least giving you all something to go on… if anyone still cares, that is. For those few of you who might, this chapter and the one or two to follow (hopefully within the week) that will finally wrap up this chapter are for you. Enjoy. **


	14. Truly Living

**Disclaimer: Neither character is mine, nor is the setting. Just the plot.**

* * *

**_—Two Weeks Later—_**

Two weeks had gone by, and I hadn't spoken to Draco. I wasn't sure what to say, really.

What do you say?

"Hello," he muttered, on his way back in to the castle while I was on my way out. I wasn't sure if it was habitual or not.

"Um, hi," I replied, still not quite sure how to articulate on my own. I'd been three people for a little while, and alone was a strange adjustment.

The pause was a little long as I waited to see what he'd say. I was still a little awkward with words.

"How are… things?" he asked. I could tell he was trying quite hard to keep himself from saying too much, or meaning too much.

"Good," I replied, attempting to smile.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah." This time I did smile.

"Good," he said, returning it with a small one of his own.

I chewed lightly on my lip and stared at the floor during the silence that ensued.

"So," he said.

"So." For some reason, I couldn't make myself meet his eyes.

"Look, Hermione," he started. He looked away. "Can we go talk, or something?"

"Of course," I replied. He stepped past me on to the castle grounds, and I followed his lead.

"Okay," he said after a moment. "I've been thinking."

"About?"

"Us."

My heart, as always around him, skipped a beat.

"Yeah?" I said. I hoped I didn't sound too very hopeful.

"And I'm thinking," he said, turning to take my hands in his, "that maybe we can work all this out."

For the first time, I brought my eyes to meet his.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied, smiling. "I mean, you're a little bonkers, but so am I, and maybe that could work itself out?"

I laughed quietly, then shrugged.

"Could help that I'm not quite so bonkers as before."

"Is that so?" he asked, putting his arm around my shoulder as we continued walking.

"Yeah," I said, smiling.

"Tell me about that," he said.

So I did.

* * *

Sometimes in life, we get these moments. The moments where, for no reason we can possibly fathom, something just breaks. That thing just breaks, and then nothing's like it was and we just feel like nothing can ever be the same.

And that's true.

We can't be the same.

No matter the situation. No matter that timing, or the circumstance, or the age we are, or anything else, we'll never be the same after our moments.

But then there are others.

The redefining moments.

Those are the good ones.

The ones where, after the bad, we take stock. We sit back, and we look at it all, and we come to an even better understanding of who we are and what we're really made of.

Those are the strengthening ones.

And those are the ones that make us all the better for them.

As far as "the closet" goes, there's more to go. There always is with those things.

But I've discovered it's not the items that matter. It's the outlook.

If I spent my entire life looking over each item and making each thing painstakingly perfect one thing at a time, could I call that truly living?

I think not.

In real cleaning and in real closets, sure. Because I need to know where my robes are, and I need to have my ties in good order. That's a given.

But in real life?

I'll take what I can get, and I'll be all that much more grateful for it.

* * *

**A/N: Okay all, that's all there is. So so sorry it took so long, for those of you who were interested in it. If there's anyone left, you are why I finished it. =) Hope you enjoyed. Hit the review button if you'd like. Thanks!**


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